


a thousand, a million, billion thoughts, (all under the form of a letter to you)

by CrayolaRainbow



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Fluff, Lists, Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, PowerPoint, Quotations, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, alex is horny, henry proposes to alex with a list in the form of a powerpoint with romantic quotes, its a low m, rated m for canon typical horniness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrayolaRainbow/pseuds/CrayolaRainbow
Summary: Henry has been working on something in his office for the past week.Every time Alex asks him what it is, Henry just brushes him off with a simple “It’s a project, dear, nothing to worry about,” before throwing himself back into his work.He comes back, a week later, with a proposal he wants to show Alex.Or: Henry proposes to Alex with the help of a list, a powerpoint presentation, and some Very Gay Quotes.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 25
Kudos: 340





	a thousand, a million, billion thoughts, (all under the form of a letter to you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charmarv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmarv/gifts).



> Happy birthday Owen!
> 
> Unbeta'd, lemme know if you notice something fucky.
> 
> CJ, if you read this, I totally stole your TBS fic concept. Sorry!!!
> 
> I didn't check all the quotes to see if they were used in the book, but the ones I did check weren't.
> 
> I wrote the first 2.8k or so yesterday and spent all of today finding the perfect quotes, which make up the bulk of the additional word count.
> 
> Please enjoy.

Henry has been working on something in his office for the past week.

Every time Alex asks him what it is, Henry just brushes him off with a simple “It’s a project, dear, nothing to worry about,” before throwing himself back into his work.

But Alex doesn’t have time to wonder what it is. He’s got studying to focus on, classes to attend, and an internship to go to. He’s slammed and so fucking tired.

Alex gets home to the brownstone around 8. He’d texted Henry earlier and told him to order food without him. There’s no sense in Henry waiting, especially when all Alex wants to do is go the fuck to sleep.

He divests himself of his coat and shoes and bag, and puts his keys in the dish by the door. He wanders into the kitchen, where he’s surprised to see Henry standing in front of the stove, humming that one song from Up.

“I thought I said to order takeout without me,” Alex says as he comes up behind Henry. He wraps his arms around Henry’s waist, careful to not touch the hot pan, and buries his face in Henry’s wide shoulders.

He feels Henry shrug. “Well, I felt like cooking instead. I’ll be done in just a moment, if you don’t mind waiting at the table?”

“Yeah, of course.” Alex pulls away, and Henry turns around. He’s wearing the apron that makes him look like Michaelangelo’s David, and Alex can’t help but smile. Henry gently tilts Alex’s chin up and kisses him softly and slowly. His mind and body are tired and he lets himself slip into the warm comfort of being loved by Henry. His eyes slip shut as the kiss turns just a little bit dirty. Henry and the promise of food wakes him up, and he suddenly doesn’t feel as tired. Alex whines and presses against Henry’s thigh, trying to make the kiss deeper and hotter. Henry pulls away and Alex nips his lip in retaliation.

“Bastard.”

“You love me though,” Alex croons, and palms Henry’s ass.

Henry smiles softly, and Alex’s heart melts. “Yeah, I do.”

Henry turns back to the pan and flips the little pieces of meat.

“Do you mind grabbing the wine from the fridge?” he asks. “I bought a Chardonnay earlier that’ll go wonderfully with dinner tonight. The glasses are already on the table.”

“Yeah, sure babe.”

Alex grabs the wine and heads into the dining room. He can’t stop a small gasp from slipping out. The table is already set, way fancier than they usually go for on a weekend, let alone a Tuesday in the middle of a busy week. There’s a flower bouquet, with dahlias, green carnations, and peonies in the center of the table, and Henry has busted out the candles too. They stand, unlit, circling the vase. The table is set with their nice tablecloth, the nice dishes, and place mats. Henry had even gone through the effort of putting the napkins through the napkin rings instead of just folding them under the silverware like they normally do.

Alex runs the date through his head. April 14. April 14. What the fuck is so special about April 14? Why is Henry going to all this effort, on a Thursday, no less.

“Hey, babe, did I forget an anniversary?” Alex shouts in the general direction of the kitchen.

“Nope!” Henry shouts back. “Do you mind removing the vase? I’ve got my hands full.”

Alex sets down the wine on the side table, and grabs the vase. He buries his nose in the bouquet and breathes in the smell of the flowers. When he looks up, Henry is looking at him, bemused and still carrying the platter.

“I take it you like the flowers?”

“Uh, yeah. But why? It’s just a Thursday, there’s nothing special going on.” Alex puts the bouquet down next to the wine.

Henry sets down the platter and shrugs. “I finished that thing I was working on, and felt like going all out. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Alex says as he takes his seat. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Henry sits down across from him, apron still on.

Alex snorts. “Babe, I think you forgot something,” he says, and gestures to Henry.

Henry looks up, surprised, and his eyes dart over the table, before looking down at himself. He laughs and takes off the apron. “Whoops, forgot that step.” He drapes it across the back of the chair and adjusts his rolled up sleeves.

Alex inhales sharply through his nose at the sight of Henry’s arms. He hadn’t noticed them earlier in the kitchen. He can feel the tips of his ears warm up.

“Baby, you can’t do this to me,” he whines.

Henry just smiles, evilly, like an evil person who knows exactly what he’s doing. “Do what?” he asks as he reaches across the table to get a piece of baguette from the bread basket, nicely displaying his arms for Alex.

“God, you’re such a dick.” Alex serves himself and digs in.

They chat aimlessly about their days and the silly things they saw online. Alex spends several minutes chewing out the dickhead at work who refuses to learn how to use the damn copy machine, leaving Alex to do it for him. Henry nods along in all the right places, and has a few choice words for the guy, which makes Alex feel better.

After dinner, they quietly wash the dishes together, casually bumping hips as they work. Alex sneaks several kisses to the underside of Henry’s jaw, and to his broad shoulders. Henry nips Alex’s ears in return, and whispers dirty promises as he does so. By the end of it, Alex is all wound up and desperately wants to take Henry into the bedroom and take him apart, piece by piece.

Alex palms Henry’s ass as Henry puts away the dishes on the highest shelf without having to rise up on his toes like Alex would.

“Take me to bed, Henry.”

“Ah, I was actually hoping I could show you the proposal I’ve been working on?” Henry turns around and bites his lip. He grabs the edge of the counter and Alex brackets his arms. “I’ve already got the laptop hooked up to the TV.” Henry sounds apologetic, but he looks nervous and excited.

Alex tilts his head and searches Henry’s face, for what, he’s not exactly sure. He scowls playfully. “Must be a damn important proposal,” he says, and pulls away to let Henry walk to the living room.

“Very,” Henry says.

It’s not uncommon for Henry to practice speeches and presentations with Alex. It helps him work out the bumps, and figure out the cadence and timing.

Henry makes quick work of turning on the TV and waking up the laptop. The laptop screen is tilted away from Alex, so he has no hints as to what this project proposal is about. Alex plops onto the couch and slings his arm over the back and spreads his legs wide, one leg propped up onto the seat of the couch.

Henry turns to face Alex and blushes. Alex smirks.

“You asked for it.”

Henry sighs. “I did.”

He adjusts his shirt and pulls out his slide clicker.

In fancy script is the title of the presentation: “An Incomplete List: Things I Love About Alex Claremont-Diaz, First Son of the United States of America”

Alex laughs. “Is this what you’ve been working on all week?”

Henry smiles, and rubs the back of his neck. “You’ll see.”

The next slide:

1\. The sound of your laugh when you make a truly awful joke.

From Vladamir Nabokov to Vera Slonim, 1923:

_I love you, I want you, I need you unbearably… Your eyes — which shine so wonder-struck when, with your head thrown back, you tell something funny — your eyes, your voice, lips, your shoulders — so light, sunny…_

There’s a picture of Alex acompianing the slide, one that Pez must’ve taken. Henry is trying hard to scowl as Alex throws back his head and laughs at his own joke. Alex hadn’t noticed in the moment how besotted Henry looked.

2\. The way you always smell like burnt coffee, old paper, and something indescribably Alex, even when you try to hide it under my nice cologne.

From Margaret Read to Ruth Benedict, 1926:

_I’ll awaken some morning just loving you frightfully much in some quite new way and I may not have sufficiently rubbed the sleep from my eyes to have even looked at your picture._

A candid photo of Alex in the bathroom, coffee mug on the counter, applying a dab of Henry’s cologne to the side of his neck.

Alex smiles. He’s wearing some of it right now. He’ll never admit it out-loud, but the smell of Henry following him around makes the shitty days less shitty.

3\. That thing you do when your brow furrows as you concentrate.

From Nathaniel Hawthorne to Herman Melville, 1851

_I can’t stop yet. If the world was entirely made up of [magicians], I’ll tell you what I should do. I should have a paper-mill established at one end of the house, and so have an endless riband of foolscap rolling in upon my desk; and upon that endless riband I should write a thousand — a million — billion thoughts, all under the form of a letter to you._

A candid of Alex at the library, pouring over his notes.

“I always want to kiss it away,” Henry confesses. “But I know it’ll just startle you and mess with your flow.”

4\. How your hands look when they’re covered in ink and graphite smudges.

From Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera:

_Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. You are the mirror of the night. the violent flash of lightning. the dampness of the earth. The hollow of your armpits is my shelter. My fingers touch your blood. All my joy is to feel life spring from your flower-fountain that mine keeps to fill all the paths of my nerves which are yours._

A photo of Alex’s hands splayed out for the camera. The sides of his hands are grey from pouring over old newspapers all day, and the tips of his fingers are stained blue with ink.

It’d been particularly bad that day, and Henry insisted on taking a photo to immortalize it.

“I’m going to send this to the group chat,” he had said. “I’ve never seen your hands this dirty after studying.”

5\. All the ways I’ve grown because of you.

From Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf, 1927:

_Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any more by giving myself away like this — But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defenses. And I don’t really resent it._

A photo of Alex, Henry, and their siblings, plus Martha, Nora, and Pez. Henry has his arm slung around Philip, and everyone has a genuine smile on their face.

“I’m so proud of you,” Alex says, and Henry chuffs a laugh.

“Thank you, but this really isn’t about me, it’s supposed to be about you.” He clicks to the next slide and Alex snorts.

6\. How you think that Empire Strikes Back is the best Star Wars (wrong) because you think Han Solo is hot and deep down you want him to kiss _you_ like that.

From Edna St. Vincent Millay to Edith Wynne Matthison, 1917:

_...please know that it is because when I think of you I think of real things, & become honest, — and quibbling and circumvention seem very inconsiderable._

A picture of them at Halloween last year, recreating Han and Leia’s kiss before Han is frozen in carbonite, alongside a picture of Han and Leia’s first kiss from earlier in the movie, which Henry has surrounded in pink hearts.

Alex laughs. “I hate that you’re right.”

Henry beams. “No you don’t.”

“No I don’t.” Alex pauses. “I love you,” he says, and it sounds like a confession.

“I know,” Henry says, and it sounds softer than it has any right to be.

7\. Your ability to remember what every congressperson’s agenda is.

From Eleanor Roosevelt to Lorena Hickok, 1933:

_All day I’ve thought of you & another birthday I will be with you, & yet tonite you sounded so far away & formal. Oh! I want to put my arms around you, I ache to hold you close. Your ring is a great comfort. I look at it & think “she does love me, or I wouldn’t be wearing it!”_

A picture of Alex on the hill, talking with Raphael Luna.

It’s not a photo he’s seen before, which surprises him. He doesn’t know who took it, or where Henry got it. It’s an older photo, from early in 2018, well before Philip’s wedding.

Alex isn’t wearing a ring.

A thought flits through his head, a hope. Is Henry actually…?

8\. Your ability to recite Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth from memory.

From Hephaestion to Alexander the Great's mother Olympias, who had been nagging Alexander to find a wife, 334 BC:

_Stop quarrelling with me; not that in any case I shall much care. You know Alexander means more to me than anyone._

A picture of Alex standing in the middle of the living room, reciting the letter. Henry sits on the couch amazed, with a copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands.

Henry had made a bet with Alex that he couldn’t do it, despite Nora and June’s reassurances, that yes, in fact, he could. Alex had grabbed his copy of Pride and Prejudice, told Henry what page to turn to, and immediately started to recite.

“What, no quote from Darcy’s letter?” Alex asks, teasing. His mind races. “An important proposal”, Henry had called it. His heart squeezes and he grasps the hope.

"Well, it's not exactly the most romantic letter, is it?" Henry says, and Alex has to give it to him. Henry clicks again.

9\. How hard you work.

From Patti Smith to Robert Mapplethorpe, 1989:

_Often as I lie awake I wonder if you are also lying awake…You drew me from the darkest period of my young life, sharing with me the sacred mystery of what it is to be an artist. I learned to see through you and never compose a line or draw a curve that does not come from the knowledge I derived in our precious time together…The other afternoon, when you fell asleep on my shoulder, I drifted off, too. But before I did, it occurred to me looking around at all of your things and your work and going through years of work in my mind, that of all your work, you are still your most beautiful. The most beautiful work of all._

A picture of Alex asleep on his notes at the table.

10\. How hard you’ve always worked.

From Gilbert Bradley to Gordon Bowsher, 1941

_For years I had it drummed into me that no love could last for life…_

_I want you darling seriously to delve into your own mind, and to look for once in to the future._

_Imagine the time when the war is over and we are living together... would it not be better to live on from now on the memory of our life together when it was at its most golden pitch._

A picture of Alex, 18, asleep in a hotel room somewhere along the campaign trail, files and books strewn across the bed.

If he squints, he can see the little Brazilian flags decorating the room.

He gasps. “Henry, did you get a picture of me from Rio?”

Henry smiles and looks proud of himself. “Yup,” he says, popping the “p”.

“ _How?_ I didn’t even know this was taken, who gave this to you?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“ _Henry._ ”

“ _Alex_. Will you please let me finish my presentation?”

“Yes, please continue to tell me how awesome I am.”

“You are absolutely insufferable.” Henry clicks to the next slide.

11\. How determined you are to keep working hard.

From Johnny Cash to June Carter Cash, 1994:

_But once in awhile, like today, I meditate on it and realize how lucky I am to share my life with the greatest woman I ever met. You still fascinate and inspire me._

_You influence me for the better. You’re the object of my desire, the #1 Earthly reason for my existence. I love you very much._

A photo of Alex surrounded by empty coffee mugs, phone to his ear. The clock behind him reads 1:30 a.m.

Alex remembers that night. He’d been just about to go to bed after submitting an essay, when he’d gotten a call from a classmate. She hadn’t felt safe walking home alone. She had refused to let Alex call her a ride, and instead he had talked to her as she walked home to her apartment, the whole 2 hour walk, giving her directions as needed, so she didn’t need to stop talking to him to look at her phone. He’d finally gone to sleep around 3 a.m., to catch a few hours of sleep before waking up at 6 a.m. to get ready for class. He hadn’t noticed Henry take the photo.

12\. That when I hold you, nothing else matters.

From Allen Ginsburg to Peter Orlovsky, 1958

_I’m making it all right here, but I miss you, your arms & nakedness & holding each other — life seems emptier without you, the soulwarmth isn’t around..._

“Baby,” Alex breathes.

Henry shrugs. “It’s true.”

13\. The copy of our emails I know you got off one of those “FirstPrince” souvenir sites that you keep in the bottom drawer of your nightstand (yes, I found it).

From Lemony Snicket to Beatrice:

_I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp... I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled... I will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, I will love you if you don't marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else— and I will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. That is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way._

A photo of said book, laid out on the bed. It’s open to their emails from September 2020. Specifically, the list of things that Alex loves about Henry.

Alex inhales sharply as Henry reads out the passage. The hope fluttering in his chest blossoms into certainty. Henry is going to propose to him.

Henry’s smile grows nervous, but he finishes reading.

“When the fuck did you find the book?” Alex asks, covering for both of them. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

“Oh, a couple months ago,” Henry says easily, smile melting into something softer and easier.

“Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

“I didn’t want you to get rid of it. I think it’s sweet.”

“Oh.”

14\. The way you look when you fall asleep after sex.

From John Cage to Merce Cunningham, 1944:

_today is beautiful and i am dreaming of you and enigma and how we are together today: your words in my ears making [me] limp and taut by turns with delight. oh, i am sure we could use each other today._

A picture of Alex, hair mussed, a pleased expression on his face, fast asleep.

Alex doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing, and lets Henry go on.

15\. Your butt.

From Princess Victoria to King Leopold I about Prince Albert, 1836

_He possesses every quality, that could be desired to render me perfectly happy. He is so sensible, so kind, and so good, and so amiable too. He has besides, the most pleasing and delightful exterior and appearance, you can possibly see._

A photo of said butt, in the tightest pants Alex owns. Pez and him had gone on a special trip to buy clothes that would make Henry go feral. It’s one of the best purchases Alex had ever made. They make his ass look _incredible_.

"Really? Victoria and Albert next to a picture of my ass? They'll be rolling in their graves!"

"Ah, what's one more thing on the pile of all our other things that would destroy their delicate Victorian sensibilities."

16\. Your huge, intelligent, ridiculous, incredible brain.

From Oscar Wilde to Lord Alfred “Bosie” Douglas, 1894:

_You are so dear, so wonderful. I think of you all day long, and miss your grace, your boyish beauty, the bright sword-play of your wit, the delicate fancy of your genius, so surprising always in its sudden swallow-flights towards north and south, towards sun and moon — and, above all, yourself._

A picture of Alex beaming next to a pile of tests all marked 100%. He'd worked his ass off for that, and the celebratory sex afterwords had been worth it.

17\. Your equally huge dick.

From James Joyce to Nora Barnacle, 1909:

_As for me, darling, I am so played out that you would have to lick me for a good hour before I could get a horn stiff enough even to put into you, to say nothing of blocking you. I have done so much and so often that I am afraid to look to see how that thing I had is after all I have done to myself. Darling, please don't fuck me too much when I go back. Fuck all you can out of me for the first night or so but make me get myself cured. The fucking must all be done by you, darling as I am so small and soft now that no girl in Europe except yourself would waste her time trying the job. Fuck me, darling, in as many new ways as your lust will suggest._

Alex laughs out loud.

“Jesus Christ, Henry. Where did you find this?”

“Ah, Google helped with sourcing, but it’s a wonder the things you can find in the library growing up. You’ll forgive me if I didn't put a picture in of your dick,” Henry says, smiling.

“No, no, completely forgiven.”

18\. Your face after hearing that last one.

From Margret Mead to her lover, Ruth Benedict, 1925:

_You have no greater gift, darling. And every memory of your face, every cadence of your voice is joy whereon I shall feed hungrily in these coming months._

A picture of Alex laughing at something on his phone.

“How the fuck…”

“I’m a wizard, what can I say.”

19\. The way you look when you fall asleep after sex. (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it, and also I wanted to show off another photo of you.)

From Alfred Stieglitz to Georgia O’Keeffe, 1917:

_— How I wanted to photograph you — the hands — the mouth — & eyes — & the enveloped in black body — the touch of white — & the throat —_

Another photo of Alex, blissed out and asleep, his arms above his head, wrists slightly crossed, and unbound. This one shows off part of his chest, and the smattering of hickeys marking up his body.

“ _Oh_ , baby.”

Something about the way the photo is taken, you can see how much Henry loves him, even though he’s not physically in the photo.

“It’s beautiful.”

“ _You’re_ beautiful,” Henry says firmly. “I just get to show that to you.”

20\. The fact that you love me in spite of my everything. The fact that you love me _because_ of my everything.

From Gordon Bowsher to Gilbert Bradley, 1940

_My own darling boy,_

_There is nothing more than I desire in life but to have you with me constantly…_

_...I can see or I imagine I can see, what your mother and father's reaction would be... the rest of the world have no conception of what our love is - they do not know that it is love..._

A photo of the two of them at Buckingham Palace, standing in front of the windows after that horrible meeting with the queen, looking out at the crowd of people gathered outside the gates. Their hands are clasped and they each have a hand touching the glass. A brief moment before being pulled into every which direction, before Alex had to fly home, captured forever.

Alex can feel tears welling up. He had no idea this photo existed, it had been such a short moment.

Henry pulls something out of his pocket and steps forward. He falls to his knees in front of Alex, in between his still spread legs.

“Alex. As you may have noticed, I am deeply, madly in love with you. I could spend days extolling your great qualities, and the pieces that make you Alex, the love of my life. I did spend days, in fact, tracking down pictures and letters, just to have a record of just some of the ways I love you. I want to have the time to show you. I want to beat the odds with you. I want to make history with you, one day at a time. I know the world already knows my innermost thoughts, knows a piece of how much I care for you, but I want to give them a permanent reminder, something they can’t avoid, can’t hide from. I want to give _you_ something permanent to hold onto, to shove in their faces. I cannot fathom why you would choose me, a prince, sheltered from the world and your opposite in so many ways, but I know the reasons why I still choose you, day after day. So.”

Henry opens the box and takes Alex’s hand.

“Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz. Would you permit me to make you Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz-Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor? Will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, oh my god, yes, I permit it, holy shit.” He grabs Henry’s face and smashes their lips together. Alex pulls away and starts peppering Henry’s face with kisses. He kisses Henry’s cheekbones and wipes away the tear tracks.

Alex probably looks like an ugly mess with tears streaming down his own face, but he doesn’t give a flying fuck right now. “Put the damn ring on, Wales.” He sniffs loudly and wipes furiously at his face.

“I’m working on it! You’re a bit distracting.” Henry takes out the ring with only slightly trembling fingers. He takes Alex’s hand back into his and slides the ring on. It’s a simple gold band, nothing ostentatious and flashy, and Alex loves it. They’d talked a few months ago about what kinds of rings they liked, and it was clear Henry had taken the obvious hint of Alex hating engagement rings with massive shiny jewels on them to heart.

“Oh, baby,” Alex says, and starts crying again. Henry climbs up onto the couch next to him and they cuddle, Henry carding his hands through Alex’s curls.

“Henry,” Alex says, after a while. He trails his fingers down south and palms Henry’s cock. “While this _is_ nice, can we move to the bedroom? I wanna blow your brains out, please.”

Alex shouts and laughs as his fiance picks him up and throws him over his shoulder, and starts power walking to the bedroom without a word.

Alex has never been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudos and a comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @the-emerald7


End file.
